And the rains came down

We haven't done much the last week or so--we should have been luxuriating in summer's warmth, but instead, we've been under a steady stream of wet weather, much more reminiscent of our stint in Pennsylvania than any June I can remember in Utah. As a result, our newly purchased pool pass lies languishing, unused, and we haven't even played outside very much. (I try, normally, not to let wet weather deter us too much form getting outside at least once a day, but Evelyn's been sick on top of everything, and exposing her to wet weather--we come in a linked threesome these days--seems cruel.) We have gone to the park a couple of times--we even got to feed the ducks and see some darling little ducklings. Evelyn's a big fan of the "gucks." We discovered this week that she *does* actually like books--one book in particular, a Baby Einstein book on animals. The first time we read it together, we must have read it five times, because every time I finished it she turned it back to the beginning. She still gets excited every time she sees it. Another animal lover, like her brother (which is funny, because neither of her parents are huge fans).



So we've tried to come up with alternate entertainments. I bought a huge lot of cookie cutters cheap on craigslist, so we took them over to Jeni's on Wednesday and made horse, elephant, rhinoceros, crab, octopus, kangaroo, worm, and other random assorted animal cookies.

Evelyn and Andrew decided to create their own entertainment by scattering my recycling pile all over the room (all the accumulated detritus from a semester of teaching and writing). I guess it's time to actually recycle the pile.

We've been working on helping Evelyn balance herself, preparatory to learning to walk (she's finally figured out that you actually have to move your legs in order to walk with a walker).





We (I mean, I) have been scouting craigslist and other online sites for cheap deals on furniture, seeing as how we'll need to furnish a house shortly and we have (aside from beds) little to no furniture. We thought we'd scored a deal sometime back on an entertainment center (the sellers even offered to deliver it when they moved). We were all set to receive it last Sunday evening, only to have the sellers call and tell us they needed to pay us back--the entertainment center broke when they tried to move it! So I guess it's good we didn't move it ourselves.

This week, I scored a cute little dresser set for a little girl. Then, however, we had to figure out how to transfer it. Luckily, Dan's aunt and uncle were in town and kindly offered us the use of their truck to transport it. It's currently sitting in the garage, where it will stay, pending our move.

We seem to be in a kind of wierd limbo just now--we're ready to move on (even Andrew keeps asking when we're moving), but we're not quite so close to our moving date to start packing full time. So, I've been desultorily packing a few boxes every day or so (mostly books, so far). I've been cleaning out the closet in my old room upstairs, which works out fairly well since there are toys in the room, which keep Andrew and Evelyn occupied while I sort through old letters, papers, etc. It's been a strangely bittersweet process, one that takes me much longer than it should because I keep reading through things as I decide whether to discard or keep. I boxed up my old journals (I kept a journal faithfully all through high school and up until my mission, writing almost every day). I'm a fan of keeping journals--that's part of the reason I blog so regularly--but I'm not such a big fan of re-reading old journals, particularly ones filled with adolescent angst and uncertainty. There's something about hearing my own voice in my head that takes me back fifteen years. Never mind that I'm thirty-something, married, with children and a successful degree. All of a sudden I feel gawky and inadequate. I wish someone could have told me, back then, that I would feel much more comfortable in my own skin as I aged, that my looks would actually improve (I found a bunch of pictures from the end of my mission, after I'd put on 20 lbs and stopped wearing makeup or really doing my hair, and was horrified by how terrible I looked). I suppose I shouldn't feel so sorry for my old self--since, after all, I think I was generally pretty happy, and I wouldn't be who I am today without coming through all that--but I can't reread some of my old journals and letters without cringing, particularly the parts that talk about boys. In some respects I can't believe how naive I was--in others, I have that same kind of reaction (torn between fascination and horror) that I have for television shows and movies where the geeky guy or girl throws him or herself at someone who so obviously would never give them the time of day. It can be pretty painful, reading about all those romantic hopes, and remembering, with sudden, unforgivable clarity, how that particular episode worked out and cringing internally. I'm glad I'm past all that.

I'm also glad that I'm almost done packing up things in that closet, so I don't have to keep reliving unwelcome episodes from the past! Of course, fairness compels me to admit that it isn't all bad--I found my old honors portfolio and it was interesting to see what things I thought were noteworthy from my college career. I found the transcript of the talk I wrote for the honors graduation (boring, but I remember the occasion). I found copies of an essay that won a big essay contest at BYU my senior year, and was actually quite impressed with what I'd written. And I found a handful of old wedding announcements that made me smile to think about the people in them. And, of course, I found the "Cinderella" shoes I wore for my own wedding--one memory from the past that I hope I never forget.